My name is Rice, and there was only one thing I hated about the War, and
even that I had to stop hating, because of England. My first feeling
was the War had come too soon, and that if it had only been four years
later, I should have been there. But, saying this to Tracey, he pointed
out that, from England's point of view, it was lucky the War had come
when it did, because every year was making the Germans stronger, while
we went gaily down the hill reducing our Navy and our Army too. So it
was a jolly good thing the Great War hadn't waited till I went into the
Army. In fact, in four years, by all accounts, there mightn't have been
any army to go into.
"No doubt you'd have been a host in yourself, Rice," said Tracey in his
comical way, meaning a joke, which I easily saw; "but, all the same, as
we had to fight Germany, the sooner we did it the better."
So I gave up hating the sad fact of not being there, though it was extra
rough on me, because many people seemed to think it was going to be the
last war on earth; and if that was so, my occupation was gone, and I
might just as well not have been born, except for the simple and rather
tame pleasure of being alive. But what's the good of that, if you're
not going to do anything worth mentioning from the cradle to the grave,
as the saying is?
As far as mere fighting went, I did all I could at Merivale, and, after
seven regular fights, got to be cock of the Lower School. And in
ordinary times I should have been cock of the whole school; but,
curiously enough, there was one chap of very unusual fighting ability at
Merivale when I was there, and he was rightly regarded as cock of the
school in the science of fighting.
It happened, also, that he and I were tremendous chums--such chums as
are seldom seen--for we had similar ideas on all subjects and never
differed even on the subject of the boxing art. In fact we only
differed because I was going into the Navy and Sutherland minor was
going into the Law. He had no taste for soldiering, like his brother,
Sutherland major; though great genius for boxing, in which he took after
his father, and as his father was in the law and wanted him to go into
it, he resolved to obey.
But to me the law seemed a feeble profession, and I often tried to
dissuade him from it.
Sutherland minor was sixteen and a half and tall; I was fifteen, and
three inches shorter. He had better biceps than me and a longer reach,
and he said I had a better punch than him, but less science.
After my third fight, he always let me second him in his fights; but he
only had two before this particularly interesting fight I am going to
mention; and one was against Blades, which he won after six rounds by
excellent science and far superior footwork to Blades; and the other was
against a chap called Pengelly, who only came for one term and gave
himself frightful airs because he was a Cornishman. But I shouldn't
think Cornwall had much use for him.
One day Sutherland said that the Cornish might be very good at catching
pilchards and digging up tin, but they didn't seem much good at
enlisting in Kitchener's Army. And Pengelly said there was a reason for
that, though he refused to tell us what the reason was. Then he got
into a fearful bate, and, little knowing the truth about Sutherland,
challenged him to fight; which, of course Sutherland instantly agreed
to. Pengelly was very big and strong, and if he had been able to hit
Sutherland as often as he wanted to, the fight might have been
interesting, but, having no science whatever, he was useless against
Sutherland. By sheer strength he stuck to it for eight rounds, during
which time he got a fair doing and Sutherland was hardly marked; but
then, though by no means all in, Pengelly realized that he wasn't going
to get a knuckle on Sutherland and so he gave up.
He wasn't a bad chap really, though rather foolish about Cornwall, and
he even said to me deliberately that a Cornishman was as good as an
Irishman, which showed, if anything, that he was weak in his head. And
after his fight with Sutherland, we asked him again what the reason was
that Cornwall was so slack at enlisting, and he said that the truth was
that half of all Cornish chaps go into the Navy, which, owing to
Cornwall being almost surrounded by sea, they prefer. But whether
that's true, or only a piffling excuse, I don't know.
Anyway, when it came to counting up the most famous men Cornwall ever
produced, he could only mention Sir Humphry Davy, who invented the
safety-lamp for miners, which was undoubtedly all right in its way, and
"Q," who wrote _Dead Man's Rock_, and was knighted for doing so; and
nobody ever deserved it more. But that was all, whereas, when it came
to Ireland, of course, I could count up thousands of the greatest heroes
in creation, including Mr. Redmond, who has just got Home Rule for us
after fearful obstacles.
But I never fought Pengelly; there wasn't time. For he only had one term
at Merivale, and then, I believe, went to Canada suddenly, to an uncle
there.
After that began the curious affair between me and Sutherland. But as
it was remarkable in every way and will never be forgotten by our
families, I may mention them.
In the first place, Sutherland's mother was a chronical invalid. I said
it must be very difficult to love a person who lived in bed and could
never be any use out of doors, or ride to hounds, or anything; and he
said that it made no difference and that he was accustomed to it,
because his mother had always been an utter crock ever since he knew
her, and even at her best, when she was feeling unusually fit, she only
changed her bed for a sofa in his father's study. Apparently she was
just as keen about him as my mother was about me, and though she didn't
much care to hear about his fights, she tried to understand the beauty
of them like his father did. But naturally this father was more to
Sutherland than the mother could be; because his father had been amateur
middle-weight champion of England in his time, and held the cup for
three years, and had been runner-up twice also. He was, therefore, a
very great boxer and fighter, and Sutherland had been taught by his
father, which accounted for his genius at it and his style, which was
very finished. He would undoubtedly have been a "pro" if he had been in
another walk of life; but as it was, he fully intended to do as well as
his father had done in the amateur boxing world, though, as he was
growing very rapidly and was also a great eater, it looked as if he
would end by being a heavy-weight, which his father never was; though,
as Sutherland told me, his father had beaten a few good heavy-weights in
his time, though he never touched twelve stone in his boxing days.
Sutherland major, by the way, had just left Merivale when the War broke
out, and he instantly went into the O.T.C.'s and soon became a second
lieutenant and went to France.
This father of Sutherland was a lawyer, and Sutherland regretted to say
that the War had done him harm as, owing to it apparently, people were
not going to law nearly so much as usual. Still he thought, after the
War, he might find a great improvement. He was a lawyer of the sort
called a barrister, and wore a wig and gown and pleaded for criminals
before the judges and juries on the Western Circuit, often getting them
off when it looked jolly bad for them--so Sutherland said.
But my father was quite different, being a gentleman at large, and
funnily enough, owing to the War, he made the first money he had ever
made in his life, for he had a great knowledge of horses, and the War
Office, hearing of this, let him go out and choose and buy horses for
it, which he willingly did, and for his trouble he got the enormous sum
of a guinea a day!
My mother sent me a sovereign of my father's earnings and told me to
keep it and bore a hole in it and put it on my watch-chain, and be proud
of it; but this I did not do, because a sovereign is a sovereign, and I
simply couldn't see a good sovereign wasting its time, so to speak, on
my watch-chain.
Then one day, walking as usual with Sutherland on the way to a footer
match in which we were both playing, both being in the first "soccer"
team, him at right back and me at right half, we got talking about a
fight I rather hoped to have with Briggs. And Sutherland was trying to
think of a _casus belli_ which, in English, means a reason for the
fight. But, knowing Briggs, he said no _casus belli_ would ever arise;
and I said in that case, if Briggs were willing, we might fight for a
purse, if anybody would subscribe one.
And then Sutherland reminded me that I should become a "pro," and Briggs
also, if that were done.
He said:
"Briggs wouldn't fight just for the sake of fighting, and as you and he
are very good friends, and there's no 'needle' in it, it looks
difficult."
Then we talked, and then he happened to say--about fighting in general
and weights and so on:
"You might just as well think of licking him"--speaking of Hutchings,
who had gone to the Front--"as you might of licking me."
"Of course," I said; "it would be absurd."
That was the whole conversation, and I forgot it while the match was on,
and, in fact, it didn't come back to me till I went to bed that night;
and then it fairly kept me awake, and I was fearfully sorry I'd said it
would be absurd for me to think of licking Sutherland. In fact I got
sorrier and sorrier, and then I wondered why the dickens Sutherland
thought it was such a mad idea my licking him; and before I went to
sleep I felt, in a way, rather sick with Sutherland for having such a
poor opinion of me.
In the morning the feeling was still there, and he noticed I was a bit
off and asked me if I was all right, and I said I was.
But it weighed fearfully, and I fairly got to hate myself in about two
days for having said the idea of my licking Sutherland was absurd. In
fact, the more I thought about it, the less absurd it seemed. I knew he
was heavier and had a longer reach and was older and more scientific;
but he himself had said that I had a fine punch; and if you've got that,
you never know what may happen; and many an unlikely thing has come off
in the ring owing to unexpected smacks landing at the right moment in
the right place.
After a good deal of hard thinking and going down about four in my form,
which landed me at the bottom, I felt I must speak to Sutherland, or I
should burst.
So when he asked me, for the thousandth time, what was the matter and if
anybody had scored off me, or anything, I said:
"Look here, Sutherland, you remember that while going to the footer
match last week, you said I might just as well think of licking you as
of licking Hutchings?"
And he said:
"Yes, I remember."
And I said:
"I told you it was absurd, didn't I?"
"You did--naturally," answered Sutherland.
"Well," I said, "I was wrong--it wasn't in the least natural for me to
say that, and there's nothing absurd about it. It's been on my mind
ever since. And now I see it wasn't absurd."
"What wasn't absurd?" asked Sutherland. "The idea of your licking
Hutchings, or the idea of your licking me?"
"The idea of my licking you," I said firmly.
For a moment Sutherland was quite silent.
"D'you really think so?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "After considering it quietly--in bed and in chapel and
at many other times--I can't see anything absurd about it."
"In fact, Rice, you think you might have a chance against me?" suggested
Sutherland.
"I don't say that it would be much of a chance," I told him. "Probably
you'd do me, because you're a lot cleverer and more scientific; but when
I said 'absurd,' I went too far."
Sutherland considered.
"You're quite right," he admitted. "You might get over a lucky one.
It's very unlikely, but you might. Therefore there would be nothing
absurd about our fighting, and I oughtn't to have suggested there was.
Somehow I never regarded us as in the same street. But, of course, we
may be."
"We're not," I said. "As for boxing on points we're not. But fighting
is different and--there you are."
He nodded.
"If you feel like that," he said, "of course----"
"I never did feel like that; in fact I never thought of it before," I
told Sutherland; "but now----"
He didn't say anything, so I went on:
"It's a matter of honour in a way," I said.
"From your point of view it is, no doubt," he answered.
"Isn't it from yours?" I asked him.
"Not exactly," he explained. "We're very good friends--in fact more
than just common or garden friends--and I never thought of fighting you,
regarding you as cock of the Lower School and not supposing the question
would ever arise between us, as I shall probably leave Merivale before
you get into the Upper School--if ever you do. Still, as you feel your
honour makes you want to fight me, you must, of course."
"There's no _casus belli_ otherwise," I said, and Sutherland answered
that honour was the best _casus belli_ possible. He said:
"Of course, if you honestly feel that I have wounded your honour, Rice,
we must fight."
And I said:
"You haven't wounded it exactly. In fact I don't know what the dickens
you have done. But you've done something, and though you're my chum and
I hope you always will be for evermore, yet I don't believe I shall get
over this feeling, or, in fact, be any more good in the world till we've
fought."
"As a matter of fact," said Sutherland, "you've wounded your honour
yourself, by thoughtlessly agreeing to my suggestion that you couldn't
lick me. Still, whatever has done it, the result is the same, I'm
afraid."
"I'm afraid it is," I said.
I suppose no two chaps ever arranged a thing of this sort in a more
regretful frame of mind, for we had always been peculiarly friendly, and
the idea of ever fighting had never occurred to us; but it was just that
fatal remark of Sutherland, showing his point of view, and showing me,
with only too dreadful clearness, his opinion of me as compared with
him. And the queerest thing of all was that I quite agreed with him
really, only there was a feeling in me I couldn't possibly let it go at
that; and, of course, there was also a secret hope that, after all,
Sutherland and I might both be mistaken about his being such a mighty
lot better than I was.
So we agreed to fight on the following Saturday afternoon, as there was
only a second eleven match on our own ground, and we should have leisure
to go into the wood close by, where these affairs were settled.
Needless to say, the world at large was fearfully surprised when it
heard we were going to fight. We still pottered about together in our
usual friendly way, and when we were asked, as of course we were, what
we were fighting for, it was more than I could do to explain, or
Sutherland either. Travers major understood the truth of the situation,
and I think Thwaites did, and possibly Preston; but to have tried to
explain to anybody else the frightfully peculiar situation would have
been impossible, for they hadn't the minds to understand it. So we just
said in a general sort of way, we were still chums, but felt such a
tremendous interest in the question of which was the greatest fighter,
that we were going to find out in the most friendly spirit possible.
Of course, being easily the two best in the school, the sensation was
huge, but the general opinion seemed to be that I must be mad to think
of beating Sutherland, and I never argued much about it, and said very
likely I was, but that I hated uncertainty in a thing like that.
Pegram said:
"It will be your Sedan, Rice," meaning that I should be treated by
Sutherland like the French were treated by the Germans on that occasion.
But I did not think so. I said:
"Most likely I shall be licked and badly licked, which is nothing
against such a man as Sutherland; but it won't be my Sedan by long
chalks, because we've agreed whichever wins it will make no difference."
"Certainly there will be no indemnity," said Pegram, "as you're both far
too hard up for any such thing; but you needn't think the beaten one
will ever feel the same again to the winner; because human nature is all
against it."
"Your human nature may be," I said to Pegram, who was a foxy chap, great
at strategy, but otherwise mean. "Your human nature may be like that,
but mine and Sutherland's is not."
All the same, I had Pegram to second me, because he is full of cunning,
and I also had Travers minor; and Sutherland had Abbott, who is a very
fine second, and would be a fine boxer, too, but for a short leg on one
side.
Williams was his other second, and Travers major consented to be
referee.
Fighting was not allowed at Merivale, but Travers, though head of the
school, and never known to break any other rule, supported fair
fighting, because he believed it was good; and he also believed that the
Doctor did not really much dislike it, though no doubt to parents he had
to say he did. Brown, however, hated fighting, and as he was master in
charge on the appointed day, we had to exercise precautions and keep the
fight as quiet as possible.
Though favourable to fighting as a rule, Travers never cared much about
my fight with Sutherland and even tried to make us change our minds.
But he had no reasons that we thought good enough, or rather, that I
thought good enough; because of course I was the challenger and
Sutherland had no choice but to agree.
It turned out that Sutherland was rather glad of the fight, because it
distracted his mind from sadness. A fortnight before, he had been home
from Saturday till Monday, to see his mother, who was worse, because his
brother Tom, or Sutherland major, was in the trenches; and his father
had been very gloomy about it, so the fight served to cheer him up, and
brighten his spirits, which was one good thing it did.
Then the eventful day arrived, and the fortunate chaps who knew that
this was the appointed time, looked at me with awe; and as we were
getting up in our dormitory, Percy Minimus whispered to me:
"You'll look a very different spectacle to-night from what you do now,
Rice."
The morning seemed long and I jolly near messed up the whole thing and
had a squeak of being kept in for the half-holiday, but I escaped, and
at last the time came when the footer match was in full swing and Brown,
with a lot of kids, watching it.
Then, one by one, about fifteen of us strolled off, including Sutherland
and me and our seconds and Travers major and Preston and Blades and
Saunders and Perkinson and Ash, and Percy Minimus, who liked the sight
of blood, if it wasn't his own.
No time was lost, and a ring was made with a bit of rope while
Sutherland and I prepared. They were two minute rounds, and Ash kept
the time.
No two chaps ever shook hands in a more friendly spirit, and as to the
fight itself, as I cannot relate it, I may copy the notes that Blades
took. He missed a good many delicate things that we did, but the
general description, though not at all in regular sporting language,
gives a fair idea of how it went. He wrote these words:
_Round_ 1.--Sutherland seemed thoughtful and not so much interested as
Rice. Rice advanced and dodged about and struck out into the air
several times and danced on his feet; and once he would have hit
Sutherland; but Sutherland ducked his head under the blow, and before
Rice could recover, hit him with both fists on the body. Rice laughed
and Sutherland smiled. They were dancing about doing nothing when Ash
called time, and they rested, and their seconds wiped their faces and
Rice blew his nose with his fingers.
_Round_ 2.--Now Sutherland began to hit Rice a good deal oftener than
Rice hit him. But, in the middle of the round, Rice got in a very fine
blow on Sutherland's face and knocked him down. Sutherland instantly
rose bleeding, but by no means troubled. He praised Rice and said it
was a beauty. And Rice said, "Don't patronize me, Sutherland," but
Sutherland did not answer. For the rest of the round Sutherland hit
Rice several times, but didn't make him bleed. It was a good round and
both were panting at the end.
_Round_ 3.--Sutherland wouldn't let Rice get near enough to hit him and
kept catching Rice's attempts on his arms. And his arms being longer
than Rice's, he could land on Rice without being hit back. He did not
hit so hard as Rice, but he hit Rice, whereas Rice hit the air. Still
Rice got in a very good one just in the middle of Sutherland's body,
which doubled up Sutherland, and before he could undouble again, Rice
had hit him very hard on the face with an upper cut. Sutherland fairly
poured with blood, but was quite cool and showed no signs of not liking
it. He got in a very good blow with his left on Rice's neck before Ash
called time.
_Round_ 4.--It was certainly a very fine fight of much higher class than
we had ever seen before at Merivale. This round was the fiercest up to
now, and Travers major had to caution Rice for being inclined to use his
head. Still he fought very finely, but it worried him fearfully to be
hit so often without getting one back. The hits were not heavy hits to
the spectator, but they must have been harder than they looked, because
Rice, who has black hair and a very pale skin by nature, was now getting
a mottled sort of skin. In this round they were rather slower than
before, and stood and panted a good deal, and while they panted, they
looked at one another with a sort of doleful cheerfulness from time to
time. But there was also fierce fighting, and Sutherland at last drew
blood from Rice with a blow on the nose. At the sight of his blood,
Rice gave a great display and kept Sutherland moving about, and at last
hit him backwards out of the ring. But Sutherland instantly returned
and went on fighting till the end of the round. It was a splendid round
in every way.
_Round_ 5.---Both were now rather tired, and in this round they took it
easy.
But at taking it easy Sutherland was much better than Rice and did not
waste so much energy in feinting. He had the best of this round and hit
Rice twice or three times on the face. At the end he fairly knocked
Rice down, and when Ash said "Time," Pegram and Travers minor rushed to
pick up Rice and carry him to his corner; but he rose and walked.
_Round_ 6.--This looked as though it was going to be the last, for
Sutherland was now fresher than Rice and evidently stronger. Rice began
the round well, but soon fell away, and Sutherland hit him several
times, and once over the right eyebrow and cut him, and evidently did
that eye no good. Rice made ferocious dashes and Sutherland got away
from them; and then, while Rice was resting, Sutherland dashed in and
Rice didn't get away. Sutherland hit Rice on the chest and knocked him
down, and it looked as though he wasn't going to get up again; but he
did, and still had good strength. He was being licked, but slowly. At
the end of the round he got one good one in, though it was lucky.
I must here break off the account of the fight by Blades to describe a
most amazing thing which made this fight far unlike any other that I or
Sutherland had ever fought. After the sixth round we were being mopped
up and Pegram was advising me to chuck it, and I was saying, in a
gasping sort of way, I should try to stick a few more rounds and hope
for a bit of luck, when, to our great horror, there suddenly appeared
from the trees Brown and a man clad in black. At first we thought it
was a policeman, and that Brown had heard of the fight and had called a
constable to take us up; but it turned out that Brown hadn't heard of
the fight, and the man in black was none other than the father of
Sutherland, the famous middle-weight of other days!
He had called to see Sutherland, and had been sent to the playing field;
and there he had been met by Brown. And Brown, guessing that the big
chaps were in the wood, had brought Sutherland's father actually to the
ring side!
Brown, of course, was furious and wanted to stop the fight and take down
all our names; but the famous middle-weight would not hear of this. The
moment he found that Sutherland was fighting, a wave of animation went
over him and he begged Brown as a personal favour to let us finish. He
even promised to put it all right with the Doctor if anything was said,
which showed his fighting qualities were still there. Brown, of course,
curled up; but his little eyes blazed, and he said that Sutherland's
father must take the responsibility, which he gladly undertook to do.
Then Brown, giving us a look which told without words what would happen
when Sutherland's father was gone, went back to the kids.
In the meantime, I and Sutherland had a fine rest, and after that we
went on again. I wished much that his father had seen the whole fight,
because I knew now, only too well, that Sutherland had got me and that,
of course, with his father there, he'd buck up and do something out of
the common; and I deeply wished my father were there, and not far away
buying horses at a guinea a day in Ireland. But I hoped now, with this
good rest, to last at least two more rounds.